


In for a Copper

by Rosage



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Established Relationship, Meet the Family, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 07:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Aisha and Salim invite Julian to lunch with no knowledge of his reputation. Unfortunately, a blank slate might be too much pressure.





	In for a Copper

Though the noon air is mercifully cool, Julian’s palms are slicker than his wit. It’s a good thing his gloves prevent Asra from feeling it. Their hands have been swinging loosely between them, Julian’s way of stopping himself from clinging. His other arm cradles a bouquet of irises.

“Nice of your parents to have me over, considering my, ah, reputation,” he says.

Asra halts, stretching Julian’s arm. When he turns back, Asra continues walking. “You might not want to bring that up.”

“They don’t know?”

“They know you’re a doctor. And that we’re old friends, and partners.”

Julian swerves to avoid a passing family without letting go of Asra. A moment later, he realizes Asra’s list is done.

“They were pretty excited that you’re a doctor,” Asra adds with a weak smile.

“Right. So I’m playing the role of a respectable doctor. I’m an actor, I can do that.”

The gratitude on Asra’s face bolsters Julian’s resolve, even as his heart palpitates. He surveys his costuming. Without a wide wardrobe to draw from, tucking in his shirt will have to do. His old eyepatch hides his red sclera, which he—and Asra—deemed the more worrying sight, though he’s beginning to reconsider. Asra’s skirt is new, with a wave pattern that seems to ripple when he walks; his mother bought it for him, he says in reply to Julian’s compliment, and pauses to smooth it.

They arrive at a cozy home at the edge of town. The wood is unpainted, but bushes twisted into the strangest patterns are squeezed into the spaces between houses. Herbs hang in the windows, reminding Julian of Mazelinka’s place with some relief. Asra takes a deep breath before knocking.

His parents appear and introduce themselves with overwhelmingly warm smiles. “You must be Ilya,” Salim says, cranking his neck back to meet Julian's eye.

The sight of them both, like Asra’s features were jumbled up in a jar, throws Julian off. “Dr. Devorak—ah, Julian will do.”

Something flickers in Salim’s expression. Too late, Julian remembers Asra’s parents didn’t know who he was. Or did being trapped in another realm mean the name still doesn’t ring a bell?

“Of course. I beg your pardon, Julian. Please, come in.”

Before he can enter, Asra nudges him and begins to take off his own boots. Julian fumbles with the buckles of his thigh-highs for what feels like fifty years. Asra, bless him, covers for the time by hugging his parents and commenting on lunch, which smells delectably garlicky.

Julian straightens, clutching his offering. “Er, Mrs. Asra’s Mom?”

“Aisha will do,” she says with a familiar twinkle in her eye. Julian swallows and offers her the irises. She inhales their scent with a sigh that draws a fond look from Salim, making Julian feel a little less wobbly.

The wobble resumes when Aisha offers to take his gloves. One is down to his wrist before he recalls the murderer’s brand behind his knuckles, condemning him with a glance. If only he’d accepted Asra’s offer to erase it. With a dry throat, he searches for an excuse.

“You, uh, really don’t want me taking my gloves off, actually,” he sputters.

For a moment, Aisha looks startled. “Whatever suits your comfort,” she murmurs. She takes Asra’s bag and tucks a curl behind her child’s ear. Half-baked excuses die in Julian’s mind, and sweat stays trapped against his skin.

Like Asra’s shop, his parents’ home makes full use of the space. In addition to a kitchen and dining area, the first floor hosts a makeshift workplace full of notes, test tubes, and metal apparatuses. The inside walls have enough paint to cover the bare outside; half-done murals sprawl in patches of ocean, night sky, and gold. Julian compliments the froth at the edge of a wave, earning a grin from Salim.

“I wish I had time to finish it, but we’re still moving in,” he says.

“You painted all of this yourself?” Julian asks. “That explains Asra’s imagination.” The grin becomes a beam.

As dinner is still in progress, Julian jumps in to help and is gently shooed away. “You’re the guest, we couldn’t. Please, relax. I’ll make tea,” Aisha says.

If it were anyone else, Julian might protest—but he’s just now realizing that, like Asra’s place, there isn’t a normal stove. Asra gives him a look of mild amusement as Julian shuffles into a seat, his hands folded loosely in his lap. Salim breaks from rolling out flatbread to put a hand on Asra’s shoulder.

“That means you, too,” Salim says. Asra looks stricken by that, like he forgot he doesn’t live here. It takes him some shuffling to tuck his skirt over his crossed legs, more modest than he’d normally bother. He stills Julian’s bouncing leg with a hand on his knee. As soon as he lets go, it continues tapping.

Seconds after Aisha places her hands around a teapot, steam rises from it. Julian has watched Asra do this, but it’s strange to see where he got it; when they first met, everything about him was unfathomable. Now Julian must stick out as much as Asra’s corner of the library used to. He rambles about the weather while Aisha serves tea.

“There will be a storm in a few days,” she says.

“How do you know?” Julian asks with alarm. “I’m supposed to spend the day on a boat soon.”

She smiles mysteriously. “I would suggest you don’t.” With that warning, she returns to mashing chickpeas.

When Salim asks after Julian’s profession, the pride in his voice confirms it as a selling point. _Time to milk that for all it’s worth_. “I used to have my own clinic on the south side, before…” _Cheery topics, Julian_. “Well, I travelled for a bit. These days, I mostly make house calls.”

“That’s wonderful. Your patients must be very fortunate.”

“Not so fortunate, to need a doctor. Why, this man I saw today—he’s been bedridden for some time, but just this week he developed these canker sores, and the poor guy had pus coming out of his—”

“Ilya.”

“Is there cardamom in this tea? It’s delicious.” Julian hides himself in his cup. “This really is a lovely place you have here.”

“Thank you. I just wish we had more space to work, but we’re making do,” Salim says.

“Most places are manageable without a baby crawling everywhere,” Aisha adds.

Julian glances at Asra, whose eyes are wide. “Oho? Was he an active child?”

Before Asra can cut in, Salim says, “I wish we had a doctor around back then for all of my heart attacks. You’d think a child who can’t walk yet couldn’t get on the roof!”

“The _roof_?”

“I don’t remember that,” Asra says, fiddling with the hem bunched under his knee.

“Of course not. You were a toddler. We were so worried, but you thought it was the best game,” Aisha says.

“Ah, I know that feeling. My sister always used to get stuck in trees,” Julian says.

Asra’s lips twitch. “That sounds like what Faust put me through.”

At the mention of her name, Julian spies a lavender snake sliding along the floor and yelps. “When did you bring her?”

“I didn’t. Oh, I forgot the most important introductions! Ilya, these are Chimes and Flamel. Faust’s parents.” As Asra speaks, a light orange snake joins the first. Their tails wrap around each other’s.

“Faust’s…?” Julian gulps. “Do they squeeze people?”

“Maybe in their youth. Mom, was Chimes mischievous growing up?”

“Almost as much as you were. Did you not bring Faust?”

“She’s staying with our friends. Sorry, Flamel,” Asra says when the orange snake lifts its head toward him.

“I don’t suppose snakes write home much,” Julian mutters. The joke only begets a grim mood.

“That’s one way to put it. It’s been terribly lonely for our poor friends. Bring her soon, will you, Asra?” Salim says.

“I will. Sorry, Ilya doesn’t always do well with her.”

His parents turn to look at Julian in unison, as if they’re suddenly aware he’s in their home, and he’s struck with the sense the snake would be more fitting company. He shrinks in his chair. “I, uh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Aisha says. She chops parsley while Salim starts setting the table. Again, Julian has to be held back from helping, this time with Asra’s hand on his elbow. The intensity of the grip surprises him, but he doesn’t have time to check on Asra before lunch is served.

The lavish spread distracts even Julian from his concerns. With so many options, he banks on following his hosts’ motions until he realizes they’re waiting for him. He starts with some stuffed grape leaves in honor of his favorite cabbage dish. Once they’re no longer watching him, he can relax into trying everything else, each flavor warm on his tongue.

“Oh, this is all fantastic. You’ll have to tell me where you get your olive oil,” Julian says. Asra’s delighted noises suggest he agrees, and Julian pauses to watch him, his heart settling at how happy Asra finally seems.

Partway through dinner, Aisha asks how the two met. Julian leaves out the tragic memories in his description of the palace library. “We did research there together, too,” Salim says, smiling fondly at Aisha. It sends a shiver down Julian’s spine to think of that connection, and the decades of love the two must have shared.

“It is a beautiful library. If only the circumstances had been better,” Aisha says, dampening her husband’s expression. He turns to Julian.

“Aisha and I were commissioned by the palace many years ago.”

“The count’s arm, I heard.” Tension settles as thick as the stew. Too late Julian realizes his sneer might seem directed at the wrong target. “Extraordinary work, really. The control he had over the fingers was something else.” If _fingers_ was the right word for the claws that had come close to his throat.

Salim perks up. “You noticed? It took months to figure out how to bind them to him.”

“Well, he used to love to wave it in my face. ‘Jules, you thought you got me, but now I am shinier than ever, mwahaha.’”

Asra can’t hide his smile, until Aisha asks, “Thought you got him, how?”

“Oh, when I hacked off his arm. Not that that’s the point of an amputation, mind you, but he did like to insist—”

“Ilya, did you try the chicken?” Asra asks. Julian registers his hosts’ stricken faces.

“The—oh. Yes, it’s delicious, my compliments.”

Julian takes a bite to occupy his mouth while he searches for topics that don’t involve severed limbs. He ends up asking about Aisha and Salim’s current work, which apparently includes more commissions from the palace, this time for an honorable leader.

“We’re at a bit of a standstill on some of our projects until the full moon, though,” Salim says. “Everything takes so much more energy in the physical realms.”

Asra nods in agreement while Julian scrunches his forehead and takes a bite of rice. By now, he knows all of those terms, but the connection eludes him.

“The palace resources help, especially when it comes to Salim’s work. I’m a bit more at the mercy of the sea,” Aisha adds.

“Oh, I know what _that’s_ like,” Julian says, even though he only has the faintest clue what she’s talking about.

“Is that so?”

“Sure, I used to sail all over. Almost got dragged into a whirlpool, once. Close call, that one—it’s not like we could go to normal ports for repairs, flying under the banner of…”

He catches his hosts’ curious eyes and clamps his mouth shut.

“Of…?” Salim prompts.

“Of, of course, I keep meaning to ask what you put in these lentils, they’re delicious.”

“Dad has them down to a science,” Asra says.

“That’s funny, for an alchemist.” The moment the words are out of Julian’s mouth, more sour than he meant, he tries to stuff them back in with a bite of food. It doesn’t work. The others are still looking at him. “It was a joke, see, because—”

“Ilya, did you see the fountain my parents have been setting up out back?”

“No, no, I didn’t notice. I’ll have to take a look.”

“I hope you’ll find the design to your taste,” Salim says in an odd tone that makes Julian’s heart sink.

“I’m sure I will! Shall we, uh, go take a look right now?”

In his haste to prove his good faith, he nearly trips over one of the snakes. As he flails to stay upright, his errant arm knocks over the vase full of irises, which crashes to the floor. Stunned, he stares at his gesture of goodwill, scattered in a puddle of water and glass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not your fault. We’ve only just settled in, there’s still no good place to put things,” Aisha says. This doesn’t seem like a good time to mention that with his clumsiness, he could have knocked the vase off the roof. “Asra, why don’t you show Dr. Devorak the fountain while we straighten things up?”

“Please, let me clean it up, I—”

Asra interrupts Julian by dragging him out back. It’s more of an alley than a yard, but this far on the edge of town there’s enough space for a small sculpture. Two snakes stand at the lip of a metal basin. When Asra waves his hand, water shoots out of the snakes’ open mouths, arcing in the form of a heart. With Julian’s mood, the splendor of it only makes him feel more rotten.

“I’m Dr. Devorak, am I. I don’t know whether that’s better or worse. Er, is that better or worse?”

“You’re the one who’s supposed to be good with people. You tell me.”

Julian laughs dryly. “Oh, yes, I’m an absolute charmer. God, why couldn’t I come up with an excuse for leaving on my gloves?”

“I don’t think that was the biggest problem.”

“I don’t suppose you have some sort of insight about how I’m overreacting.”

“I wish. Someone needs to tell me if _I’m_ overreacting.” Asra slumps with his head in his hands.

“You? Oh. Oh, dear, Asra, I’m so sorry for putting you in this position, I—”

“For putting me in what position? You didn’t invite yourself. I can’t believe they remember what I was like as a toddler.”

What he was like...? “Er, Asra? We’re on the same page that I’m the problem here, right?”

Asra looks up at him blankly. “What? No. I mean, the dig at alchemy was unnecessary, but I could’ve warned them you weren’t a magician.”

“That’s not your job.”

“Maybe not. I just… I didn’t see my parents for such a long time. I never even had friends over as a child. I have no idea how this is supposed to work.”

The waterspouts tie into knots before falling apart into the basin. Without waiting for that admittance to soak in, Julian wraps an arm around Asra’s shoulders, giving him a place to lean. To his relief, Asra takes it.

“I’m sorry, I was so focused on what they’d think of me, I wasn’t paying attention to how you were doing,” Julian says.

“It’s fine. I just want us all to like each other, I guess.”

“I like them. They’re—they’re a lot like you. And just as marvelous at cooking.” Something dawns on him. “You know they like you, right? And you like them? Should I be liking them?”

“Of course. I love my parents. I’m just being silly, since it’s been so long.”

Julian pulls him closer to plant a kiss on his head. “You’re not being silly. God knows when Pasha and I reunited, I had no idea where I stood.”

“You two interact so naturally, though.”

“Ah, well, life finds a way.” The fact that he’s here with Asra, after everything, is proof of that.

Quietly, Asra doodles with his finger in the air, making the water travel in squiggly shapes. They stay like that for several moments while Julian tries to figure out how to salvage the situation.

“Copper, for love and harmony,” Salim says from behind them. Julian jerks away from Asra, but both parents are smiling in the doorway. “The fountain, that is.”

“It’s, uh, excellent crafting, fine work,” Julian says. “I’m sorry again about the vase. And the rude remarks. Nobody, ah, nobody was hurt by the glass, I hope?”

“Not at all, thank you, Doctor,” Aisha says, the fingers curled under her chin belying the formality.

“If I may?” All of their attention makes Julian’s heart hammer. He pretends the little yard is a stage, that there other indistinct faces blending together, too far away to see him sweat.

“Listen, I can’t pretend to be the type of man anyone wants to introduce to their parents, but I just wanted you both to know that your child is a creative, intelligent, caring person who actually gave _me_ the honor of being in his life, not once, but twice, and… and you should be very, very proud.”

He steals a glance at Asra, whose red face turns to the ground. Salim is beaming. “Believe us, we couldn’t be prouder.” Though he’s no less red, Asra’s half-hidden mouth smiles.

“You don’t need to bring your background to our table, Julian. Caring for our child is more than enough,” Aisha says, stroking Asra’s bangs back from his face.

Julian flares up from his neck to his ears. “Oh.”

Salim adjusts his glasses. “Actually, we wanted to apologize.”

“ _You_ wanted to apologize?”

“Has Asra told you what happened to us?”

“Oh, yes. I curse out goats at every chance,” Julian says, making Aisha’s lips twitch. “But, er, my condolences.”

“You needn’t worry on our accounts,” Aisha says. “The point is, you can imagine it’s been a while since we’ve had many chances to entertain. We’re afraid we may have made you uncomfortable.”

For once, Julian is speechless. He broke their things, and they’re apologizing? It’s no wonder that Asra was kind enough to give him a second chance. He assumes Asra will jump in, but Asra just watches him anxiously.

“No, no, you’ve been very hospitable. I’m, uh, just kind of like this,” Julian says.

“We’d love to get to know you better. Is there somewhere you’re most comfortable?” Salim asks.

 _Comfortable_ and Julian don’t go together, unless it’s Asra curled against his chest. The Rowdy Raven isn’t the place for present company. He looks searchingly toward the fountain.

“Actually, my sister works at the palace. She lives right by the gardens. I’m sure she could let us in for a stroll, maybe even get us some more irises.”

“That sounds lovely,” Aisha says, holding out an elbow that Salim loops his arm through. “I’ll make some more tea, first.”

The pair returns inside, and Asra exhales. He elbows Julian. “You and your speeches.”

“See, some people like my speeches.”

“Do you actually know if we can get into the gardens? And more to the point, bring flowers home?”

Julian pauses to consider that. “Some people like my speeches,” he repeats.

“Oh, Ilya.” Asra laughs as they link arms. “Thanks.”


End file.
